


Mush and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by Carbon65



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: (a literal closet), Bars and Pubs, Better Living Through Chemistry, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misgendering, Trapped In A Closet, cilantro discourse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carbon65/pseuds/Carbon65
Summary: When he woke up this morning, Mush's favorite shirt was dirty, so he had to wear his second favorite shirt.When he did stoichometry calculations at work today, he dropped a digit so he ended up with pico-molar solution instead of a nano-molar solution.When he walked home from work, the sky opened up and he had to escape into a strange bar.Mush is having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.





	Mush and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pennysparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennysparrow/gifts).



> For PennySparrow, who asked for
> 
>  
> 
> _Blink and Mush (cause I adore how you write their relationship) and the bar/restaurant au mixed with the locked in a room? Please and thank you!_
> 
> I hope this cross posted on Tumblr. It seems to have some... fun issues. Either way, enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings
> 
> Misgendering. Bars and alcohol. Chemistry related content.

Mush had… not had a good day. Actually, Mush feels like a character from a certain children’s book. He may not have woken up with gum in his hair, he’s an adult so he can buy his own dessert, and the internet has an amazing selection of sneakers; but he definitely needs to call the dentist again - who is sure to find a cavity and he definitely dropped something somewhere and ended up with a picomolar yield instead of a nanomolar one. Which was great, except that you shouldn’t get 16 times the theoretical yield in any synthesis reaction.  
His officemate misgendered him. Again. Which is the worst, and therefore, the thing he has to push to the back of his mind even though it keeps popping back up again and making his stomach churn and the anxiety track play on repeat.  
He thinks he might move to Australia. Or Canada. Or hell, San Francisco sounds good today. Anywhere but here.

He doesn’t want to cry in the lab, so he makes excuses and leaves. It’s not like he can go forward today, anyway. He’s still waiting for the asshole to double check his calculations. Or, waiting for the asshole to do some kind of perfunctory check of his calculations. He’s not sure they know how to use a calculator, and just got distracted by the pretty writing in his notebook. Again.

He’s exhausted as he starts to walk home, kicking a pebble along with him. Because that’s not the kind of thing from a cliched children’s book. It’s also weirdly soothing to see the pebble go flying in front of his bright green converse.

He’s passing through that vaguely sketchy part of his walk home where he always clutches his pepper spray. He’s never seen anything happen there, never heard of anything happening there. But, the street is a little bit run down; grass grows up through the sidewalk. And, instead of grocery stores, it’s lined by shops with dusty windows under apartments that are just above his price range.

He’s passing by a red brick bar on the corner when the sky opens up. It’s like someone turned on a faucet or a fire hose. He’s not wearing a jacket, and mush hates being wet. Because today wasn’t already no good, very bad.  
He hears that it doesn’t rain in California. Or Australia.

He weighs the twenty dollar bill in his pocket that’s supposed to cover lunch for the three days again taking himself and his computer into a dry place. Dry wins.

The inside of the bar is dark, and it’s definitely a dive. There’s a chalkboard menu on the wall, listing off foods and prices and meal deals. It advertises a trike night on Tuesdays and karaoke on Thursdays. The perimeter of the room is comfortable booths, and high tables are clustered in the center. The bar sits along the back of the room, alcohol on display against a mirror. The only thing the space is missing is… people.

Mush is entirely alone.

He pushes his wet curls out of his eyes, and tries to figure out what he should do. He could leave. But, as he opens the door to slip back out, a sheet of rain comes down. It’s not quite raining horizontally, but it’s definitely raining harder than it was. And, Mush doesn’t want to go back out.

So, he finds a corner booth, and settles into wait. _Someone_ has to come back, soon, he figures. They can’t just leave the door open and the lights on without an actual employee in the building. 

Eventually, the coffee Mush was trying to turn into five reaction theoretical synthetic yield calculations starts to make itself known, and he realizes he has to find a bathroom. In deference to the obviously neglectful staff, the bathrooms are, at least, clearly labeled.

And, thankfully, they’re single stall. Not even gender marked single stall. In a weird twist for this kind of place, one is labeled “cilantro is awesome” and the other is “I hate soap”.

“Help! Help! Hey, Patrick, Skittery, Boots? Where are you assholes?” There’s a knocking coming for the one that hates soap.

Mush thinks about just going an peeing in the _Cilantro is awesome_ stall, because really, cilantro is awesome. But, he figures that he should at least make sure the other person is okay. They might be the missing bartender, or something.

He knocks on the door. “Everything okay?”

His overture is met with a flurry of cursing.

So, no. Not okay.

“I’m going to try and jimmy the door, yeah?” Mush asks, reaching for the lock.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried that, asshole?” The person trapped inside demands. “Nah, you gotta go get the spare key. It’s under the bar, next to the highball glasses.”

“Kay,” Mush agrees, hurriedly googling “highball glass”. He’s a lot more prepared to find the key by the rotovap.

He can hear continued cursing through the door as he approaches with the key, and then unlocks it. It takes a few more moments for the prisoner to escape, since both he and Mush are trying to turn the doorknob at the same time.

Mush finally stands back, and a guy with sandy hair tumbles out. “Hey. Hi. Fuck. Thank you.” He rubs his hands on his jeans. “I’m Blink.”

“I’m Nick,” Mush introduces himself, loving the feel of his name in his mouth.

“Nice to meet you, Nick.” Blink shakes his hand. He likes the way Blink says his name. “Don’t go in there, unless you want to get trapped. Being poisoned by cilantro is way better than being poisoned by cleaning chemicals.”

“Thanks,” Mush says, feeling awkward again.

He and Blink make awkward movements around each other until Mush mans up, and just goes into the functioning toilet. 

He sits down to pee, re-adjust his binder, and try to figure out what just happened. It takes a few minutes for him to compose himself, but that’s probably good, because Blink might need it, too.

“Fuck this shit, Skittery,” Blink says into his phone. “Open a Bar, you said. It’s better than grad school, you said. I never got locked in a bathroom trying to get drops in my eye in grad school.” 

There’s a pause, presumably where Skittery says something. Mush isn’t sure if he should make his presence known or not. He turns toward Blink, who holds up one finger.

“Yeah, yeah. Look, I got someone here. We can talk more when you come by tonight to do the books. Yeah, you too asshole. ...Yeah, bye.”

Blink puts his phone on the counter face down and turns to Mush. He lets out a breath. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s just… it’s been a terrible, horrible--”

“--No good, very bad day.” Mush finishes with him. “Thinking about running away to Australia?”

Blink grins. “Not so much, anymore. When I was in the bathroom? Yeah. Now, at least, not until I’ve had a drink. Care to join me, Nick?”

It’s his name that does it. “Yeah,” Mush agrees.

“What’ll you have? It’s on the house.” Blink offers.

He and Blink are still talking when Skittery arrives.

Maybe here isn’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this is okay! Enjoy a little bit of self-indulgent work angst with a side of Blush.
> 
>  _Alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good very bad day_ is by Judith Viorst and is a classic.


End file.
